


We Collapse Like Stars at the Edge of Space-Time

by Jay Auris (nighthawkms)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character in peril, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Religious Fanaticism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-08 10:22:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1937250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighthawkms/pseuds/Jay%20Auris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team is called to upstate New York to investigate a series of grisly murders with a disturbing pattern. Tensions put Brian and Jimmy at odds with one another, but when the investigation takes a turn for the worse, nothing matters more than everyone going home alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

Brian's phone starts buzzing incessantly at 5:32 A.M.

Jack's got a very special ring tone on Brian's phone, bought one night when Brian was three sheets to the wind and feeling particularly suicidal about sticking it to his boss. So when he hears the familiar tones of _I fought the law, and the law won_ blaring through the thickness of his sleepy mind, he knows he can't ignore the call.

"H'lo?" he mumbles into the phone. His voice is scratchy and on the wrong side of quiet, so he clears his throat and tries again. “What is it, Jack?”

"Zeller, wake up. I need you at Reagan National Airport by seven. Pack an overnight bag and get your ass on the road."

"I live thirty minutes from Reagan," he says, levering himself out of bed and twisting, listening for a satisfying crack. "Even if I leave now, there's no way I'm getting through baggage claim for a seven-thirty flight."

"We've chartered a private plane," Jack says. Now _that_ wakes Brian up. "I'll meet you at the front gate."

Jack hangs up on him as Brian flicks on the bathroom light. He squints in the mirror, rubbing his stubble and cursingthe lack of time to shave. A quick shower will have to do. He has an overnight bag packed permanently because being woken up like this isn't unusual: Murder doesn't wait for a 9 to 5 work schedule. Jack's gotten him out of bed in the middle of the night more times than his significant others ever have.

_Not going to contemplate what that says about my love life_ , Brian thinks.

He turns the water up to its hottest temperature; it steams up his mirrors and leaves scalded red marks down his back which fade when he steps out. The heat helps to wake him up— although he gives his bed a mournful look when he walks back into the bedroom. _I just washed the sheets too._ _Well, catching up on missed sleep is what retirement is for_.

There's a browning banana at the bottom of his fruit bowl in the kitchen. He scarfs it down as he shimmies on a work shirt and tries to find two clean matching socks. Considering that he had planned on doing his laundry, oh, _tonight_ , this isn't as easy as it should be.

Finally, he is dressed and scrambling for the door. He almost locks himself out without his car keys, but catches himself right before he slams the knob shut. His cell phone reads 6:15. Hopefully the morning traffic will be lean and quick.

Brian often gets calls like this, maybe even more so now that Will Graham has started working with their department. The profiler has an uncanny knack for drawing murderers out of the woodwork. It's not like Brian isn't grateful that Will is on their side, but, well... he's a damn magnet for death. It's like there is a Grim Reaper trailing right behind him. And to be honest, the guy kind of creeps Brian out. Will’s whole 'first-person-serial-killer' routine is fifty shades of disturbing.

What's really interesting to Brian is that they're getting a _chartered_ plane. That means that somebody doesn't have time to wait for them to arrive — wherever they're going, they're needed ASAP. Jack hasn't mentioned assigning them any new cases, so maybe he owes somebody a favor.

Brian's never been on a chartered plane before; he's usually stuck in coach next to bored children and their neglectful parents, half a section away from Jimmy or Beverly - his only possible respites from the horror of commercial air travel. The BSU doesn't care so much about seating their people together as long as they end up at the same destination.

So Brian kind of hopes that they've got a nice long flight to enjoy this, because god knows they won't be getting chartered back to Virginia.

He finds a spot in parking and prays he won't come back to find a nice big scratch up the side of his car like he did the last time. _Five hundred fucking dollars and not covered under BSU covered personal property insurance_ , he thinks, double checking to make sure there's a nice berth of space for whoever parks next to him. _What the hell is workplace insurance good for then._ He's still a little bitter about that one.

He's ten minutes early, but Jimmy and Beverly are already there, looking as half-dead as he feels. Beverly is clinging to her cup of coffee like it's a life preserver, and Jimmy is looking on longingly.

"Why do you always beat me here?" Brian complains.

"Because you live farther from the airport than us, duh," Beverly says, holding back a yawn. "At least you beat Jack this time."

“Don't remind me about that morning,” Brian grumbles. “I think my eardrums are still perforated from the experience. Jack's yelling voice makes a tornado sound like a wind chime.”

"You're looking more roguishly stubbled than usual," Jimmy says, nudging him in the shoulder. "Hot date tonight?"

Brian rolls his eyes. "I don't trim on my days off, you know that."

"How would I know that? I don't keep track of every detail of your life, Mr. Arrogant." Jimmy says.

"Can it," Beverly says, glaring at them over the top of her Styrofoam lid. "It's too early for this. We're all cranky. And you're hung over, Jimmy, don't look at me with those innocent eyes. I caught a whiff of your breath just now — do you own a toothbrush?"

Jimmy shrugs. "Yes, but I didn't have time to use it."

"I'll buy you a pack of gum inside," Brian says, shaking his head. "I forgot to brush too."

"If you're all done having your little lover's quarrel," says a voice from behind them, "I'd like to get on the plane now."

They turn to see Jack, looking much too awake and alert for this time of the morning. Will Graham is trailing behind their boss, a worn, fraying backpack slung over his shoulder, his entire appearance dispassionately ruffled as usual. He looks even more tired than they are, if that's possible.

"What's this all about, Jack?" Beverly asks as Jack leads them inside. Their boss waves to a security guard, and another one appears to escort them.

"I'll tell you all on the plane," Jack says. "We've got a short flight and a long day ahead of us."

They walk out onto the runway as the warm spring sun rises overhead. A little puddle jumper plane is sitting on the tarmac, looking so out of place amongst the lumbering 747s that taxi by. They pile inside to find a luxurious interior: There are eight first-class seats in the small cabin, four on each side, two pairs facing one another. There is a plush carpet floor, probably worth more than Brian's whole year's salary, and a mini bar in the corner. The flight attendant quickly runs through a description of safety regulations, and he pretends to pay attention, trying not to laugh as Jimmy mutters morbid plane crash humor in his ear. They're in the air by the time Brian's phone reads 7:32.

Jack turns on a small projector as they taxi down the runway, and a crime scene photo is displayed on the back wall of the cabin. "We're going to upstate New York. Three victims, two in the past week at different locations, and another last night in Ithaca, which is where we're flying to now. Three people with seemingly no connections except for the manner in which they were found murdered."

He walks them through the gruesome photograph they're seeing. "The first victim was Yolanda Ramirez. Age thirty-six, she was a biochemical engineer at Monsanto working on genetically modified strains of plants. No spouse or children, parents are both dead. There was a boyfriend, but he's been ruled out as a suspect."

"Why?" asks Jimmy.

"He was halfway across the country attending a tech convention in Austin," Jack says. "Ms. Ramirez was seen after he left, and he has witnesses to confirm his stay in Austin for the days during which she was missing. Her body was found in a creek in Poughkeepsie two days after she was last seen walking out of a Whole Foods."

"Kind of ironic for a woman who makes hybrid crops for a living," Beverly says.

Brian studies the photograph. In the picture, Ms. Ramirez' body is lying face up, feet bobbing in the creek she lies perpendicular to. She has long, curly hair, blue eyes, and medium-brown skin. She's wearing a button-down shirt and a brown pencil skirt, very professional looking. Her arms are spread out away from her sides, with mottled bluish-black bruises on the skin around the wrists. Her shoes are nowhere to be seen, either washed downstream or taken by the killer.

The most striking part of the image is that half her head is missing. The upper skull above her eyebrow has been raggedly shorn across and removed, as if the killer used a makeshift bone saw to slice the interior open. The inside of the skull is completely empty.

"Killer took her brain," Brian notes to be pedantic about it. "Bruises on the wrist are thin and straight, victim was zip-tied. No blood on the leaves— she wasn't killed there?"

"That's what we're thinking. There was a paralytic in the system, so he likely drugged her and took her somewhere to kill her," Jack says. "She was conscious when she was operated on. You can guess what killed her."

Jack clicks the button on the projector and another picture appears. It's a wide shot from the front; the victim lies in the same spot, but now a tree stands out prominently in the background. There's a piece of paper pinned to the tree, and in smooth, clean handwriting, someone has written a set of numbers in brownish red ink, or more likely, the victim's blood.

"19:19," Jimmy says. "Military time?"

"We're not sure of that yet," Jack says. "Second victim," he says, moving to the next photo on the projector, "is Ryan Dunham, age 27, a tattoo artist operating out of Binghamton. He was found in an apartment in Monticello that was being shown to renters."

This time they are looking at a young Caucasian male, lying on a wooden floor, stretched out in the same t-shape as Ms. Ramirez. His hands are missing this time, cut in a similar manner to the jagged slices that took Ms. Ramierz's skull off.

"They found the same paper pinned to his shirt, this time with the numbers 19:28,” Jack says. “Found some trace fibers that we haven't been able to identify, and the paralytic was once again present in the system.”

"The third victim is where it gets interesting,” Jack continues. “They found the scene about two hours before we got on the plane, so I don't have pictures yet, just a description. Andre Callaghan. He was a city councilor in New York City. A well known gay-rights activist, so he's got his share of enemies. Body was discovered this morning in somebody's farmhouse. Several stab wounds to the groin area; this time the genitals are missing. Another note was pinned to the floor next to the victim. It looks like the same handwriting; more numbers, 18:22."

"So now we're going backwards in time," Jimmy says. "Maybe the killer has a freaky clock fetish?"

"Too simple," Will says. "There's more motivation behind this than simple sexual fetishism."

“Since when is sexual fetishism a simple motivation,” Brian mutters a little too loudly.

" _Hence_ why they're bringing us in," Jack says, giving Brian a thousand yard stare that makes him slide down further into his seat. "I was asked personally by the governor to send my best team up here, which is why your pampered asses-” he focuses on Brian _again_ as he says this- “are getting a private chartered flight. She wants to find the killer before he- or she- decides to strike again."

Jack ends his presentation by saying they can sleep on the plane since they're probably not going to get much sleep for the next few days. He and Will take the left side of the plane, sitting across from one another and speaking in low voices, probably about how Will's a special snowflake and shouldn't let Brian's snarkiness get to him. _Not my fault the guy's so weird_.

Beverly, Brian and Jimmy sit on the right side, Jimmy and Brian next to one another. Brian closes his eyes and tries to doze, but it's no use. He uses the time to read on his tablet instead.

Jimmy falls asleep pretty quickly, and when Brian feels a weight on his shoulder, he looks over to see Jimmy's head slumped against him.

"Aww," Beverly says, holding up her phone. "I should take a picture, make it Jimmy's desktop photo. He'll never figure out how to change it."

Brian rolls his eyes and swats her phone away. "Stop trying to play matchmaker," he mutters softly. "I should have never told you about that."

"What, your extremely erotic dream about your co-worker? That's not something we just pretend never happened," Beverly says.

"It was a dream, that's it. You've been hung up on this for two months."

"Mhmm. Keep living in denial then." She gives him a pointed look, then goes back to looking at her phone.

Brian sighs and glances down at Jimmy. He would wake the other man up, but Jimmy looks _really_ tired, and Brian smells the faint whiff of alcohol emitting from his breath as he snores. Brian has had a few too many drunken late-night calls from his friend this month. _Maybe I should mention trying therapy again_.

For an alcoholic, Jimmy functions well 90% of the time. The other 10% is related to something in Jimmy's past that he refuses to talk about. Considering how flirty and open Jimmy gets when he's got booze in him, it's surprising that he's never let it slip.

They've had half a dozen fights about Jimmy trying something, _anything_ , to help whatever pain he's holding inside, but the arguments never end well— they both stop speaking to each other except in a professional capacity, and Beverly has to knock their heads together to get them back to normal.

Maybe it's futile, but Jimmy is his friend. Brian gives much too much of a damn about him to stop trying now.

When the plane wheels touch the ground, Jimmy twitches awake, yawning and lifting his head slowly. Brian tries to pretend he's not a little disappointed. He's really bad at it though.

"Sorry about that," Jimmy says, blinking at him with tired, blood-shot eyes. He doesn't look any more refreshed than before. "I usually put out before trying to cuddle."

Brian snorts and shakes his head. "I'm sure you'll return the favor one of these days."

 

~

 

There's an SUV waiting for them when they get out of the airport. They drive straight from Ithaca Tompkins to the crime scene, Beverly at the wheel. Brian always tugs his seat-belt a little tighter when Beverly drives. She's a speed-demon, but she'll get them there in half the time anyone else would, _and_ not get pulled over while doing it. It's like she has a sixth-sense about speed traps; Brian tries not to ask too many questions, lest he jinx the whole situation.

The rural hills of New York State are cool this time of year, and the greenery is just starting to peek out from the cracked winter earth. The trees are still bare of leaves, their winding branches reaching towards the dull gray sky above. Brian watches endless miles of farmland fly past, leaving the window cracked, letting the cool morning air blow over him. Jimmy snoozes again in the seat next to him, and Will sits in the back, saying nothing. As usual.

It's around 9am when they pull off of the main road and go down a winding path into a grove of trees. The gravel drive ends at a large, disheveled barn surrounded by police cars and several vans from the coroner's office.

"Victim was found by the owner of the property," Jack says as they get out of the car. "She lives about a mile down the road, and the town rents this place for local events. They were getting ready for the solstice festival, so she came down to check on the place." Several officers greet them as they pass, and the local sheriff meets them at the front of the barn.

"If we've got any people with sensitive stomachs, they might want to stay back," the sheriff says, eying Beverly not-so-subtly. Beverly just rolls her eyes as they pass him.

"Don't worry, officer!" Jimmy calls back. "Ask her sometime about the mushroom garden made of people. Or the guy we found impaled from throat to anus on a stop sign. I'm sure she'll give you all the gory details!" The sheriff pales as he turns away, and Brian chokes away a laugh with a series of very convincing coughs.

"You didn't have to do that," Beverly says, unable to hide a smirk.

"Of course I did,” Jimmy says. “If that guy thinks your delicate sensibilities will be offended by this corpse, well, he needs to go back to the 1800s where he belongs."

"Let's try not to piss off the local law enforcement, shall we, Agent Price?" Jack says, lifting up the police tape to let the team walk under it and into the barn. They enter an open air building with some rotting hay spread about the floor and a loft high above, stacked with barrels and old farm equipment. The body of the victim lays on the ground in the middle of the barn, covered by a sheet.

"They've had their local investigators take a look while waiting for us, but nothing has been moved yet,” Jack says. “I want everyone to clear out for a minute!" He shouts, startling several officers standing around. They slowly file out the front door. "Zeller, get the sheet."

Brian moves forward and lifts the covering, revealing the body of a man in his thirties or forties, likely Caucasian, tall and thin and-

"Give us a minute," Jack says, looking at Brian and his teammates. He nods towards Will, who is already bending down next to the body, probably getting ready to do his creepy little serial killer impersonation.

Brian rolls his eyes. He really hates letting Will disturb a crime scene, but the man does seem to be careful where he walks. Whatever he does helps them catch a lot of killers. So Brian steps back towards the corner of the barn where Beverly and Jimmy are standing, blowing into the cold spring air, breath puffing like smoke signals.

"I wonder what goes on in that brain of his," Jimmy mumbles, glancing back at Will and watching him work. "How he does it."

"Probably spends every night touching himself to crime scene photos," Brian snarks.

"Would you cut whatever weird grudge you've got against him?" Beverly scolds. "He's a nice guy, he's just got issues like everyone else does." She nods towards Jimmy, who's still staring over at the crime scene, and then looks back at Brian. "You've got your own friends with issues, don't you?"

Brian scowls, but doesn't retort. He knows she's probably right, but better to stay silent than admit that to her.

When Will finishes whatever the hell he does, Jack lets them back into the crime scene. They unpack their tools and materials from the trunk of the SUV and start the long, arduous task of sweeping the entire barn. The local coroner has come out to help them with several of his interns, so the sweep takes less time than it normally does. Beverly picks up fibers from some sort of cloth under the victim's fingernails. Brian finds a drop of blood far away from the body and grabs it for DNA analysis. Jimmy finds a partial fingerprint on the zip-tie that's binding the victim's hands in front of him.

They are at the scene for about four hours. When they are done, the body gets shipped to the local morgue, and the five members of Jack's team pile back into the SUV to follow the coroner back to his office.

"Anyone ever been up here?"Brian asks aloud to no one in particular.

"I come up here sometimes," Will says from the back row. Brian glances back; Will looks out the window. "It's a bit of a drive, but it's worth it. Lots of nice hiking paths for my dogs during the summer."

"Oh." Brian really has no response for that. He wasn't expecting Will to be the one to answer him. "Cool." _You sound so smooth right now, Brian,_ he thinks. _So_ _s_ _mooth._

They reach the morgue and unload the body. Dr. Everett, the local coroner, shows them around the office, and then Brian's team gets to work. Jack mentions something about going to get information about the area from the state patrol's office. He and Will maybe even drive over to the first two crime scenes, see if Will can manage to find a new clue for them to work with.

Jack and Will leave, and then it's just Brian and Beverly and Jimmy, doing a full workup of the corpse.

They cut Mr. Callaghan out of his clothes, and Beverly takes the tattered garments over to a table to dust for prints and check for fibers. Brian helps Jimmy document the placement of stab wounds on the body and determine the size and shape of the blade used. Then they slice him open and do the internal examination.

The samples of his blood and organs go to the toxicology lab for testing. The fingerprint on the zip-tie also gets run through the national database. There's no match; it's too partial, but if they find another partial somewhere, they can try and combine them to make a whole print.

Jimmy's just sent the last sample to be tested when Jack walks back in with Will. It's almost nine, and they haven't eaten for hours, so to see Jack and Will set down bags of food, even greasy, artery-clogging fast food, is a hard-earned relief.

"We probably won't get most of the test results back until tomorrow morning," Jack says. "Clean up, we'll hit the hotel and get some rest."

They eat and then pile back into the car. By this time, Brian's almost dead on his feet. Working in the lab at the BSU never makes him this tired, but they spent part of the day traveling. And if he's being honest with himself, he's been getting less sleep lately than he should be. Staying up late, thinking about... things. Like his stagnant thirty-six year old bachelorhood.

He glances at Jimmy, who sits next to him again, reading something on his phone. "It's rude to read over someone's shoulder," Jimmy mumbles, looking over his glasses at Brian with a wry smile on his face.

"Sorry," Brian says, "I'm fried."

"It's fine. Here, Bev showed me how to do this last week." He turns his phone sideways and pulls up the Youtube app, holding it between the gap in their seats. They watch dumb cat videos on the entire ride to the hotel. At one point, Will leans his head forward from the back row to see what's on the screen.

"No wonder parents buy their kids iPads now," Beverly says when they pull into the parking lot. "You three have been quiet as church mice."

The hotel is more like a motel. The blue and white structure is fairly empty, judging by how many cars are in the parking lot. The wind has picked up, whistling through the tree branches in an eerie cacophony. Brian thinks he may have watched a horror movie like this last month. He's not pretty enough to be the last girl, so he puts a little pep in his step as they head towards the lobby. Beverly gives him a confused look as he passes her, but she's the safe bet to survive the inevitable backwoods chainsaw murderer, so her opinion means nothing to him.

They follow Jack into the front office. Brian browses the brochure rack while Jack collects their room keys. When he's done, he hands one key to Beverly and one to Jimmy, then mutters a good night and walks off.

"Where's mine?" Brian complains as he goes, getting no response.

Jimmy shakes his key. "I guess we're roomies for tonight," he says, motioning to Will, who's following Jack out the door. "They're sharing a room, and Bev gets one to herself."

"Don't want my delicate sensibilities frazzled by seeing you boys in your boxer shorts and t-shirts," Beverly says, winking at them. "Get some sleep, I'll see you in the morning."

Brian and Jimmy trudge up to a second story room. They open the door to find a tiny space with two double beds, a dresser with a CRT TV on top, and a bathroom in the back. “At least the beds aren't pushed together,” Jimmy says. “There's got to be what, a good three inches between them? So roomy.”

"You'd think for government work we'd be rolling in cash," Brian says, dropping his bag on one of the beds and kicking off his shoes. He flops back onto the comforter, moaning happily. It's soft and envelops him in cushioned comfort; he could probably fall asleep just like this.

"Remember how many people have sex on these things," Jimmy says, pulling the covers down on his own bed. "Probably going to want to get under the clean sheets."

Brian groans again and gets up, unbelting his slacks and unbuttoning his shirt, dropping both next to the bed, leaving him clad in boxers and a t-shirt.He's pulling down the covers when he sees Jimmy looking at him.

"What?" Brian grumbles. "Is there a problem?"

"No, I'm just amazed you're dropping trou in front of me. Usually when we share a room, you insist on hiding in the bathroom while you put on your adult onesie PJs," Jimmy says.

"I have never and will never wear an adult onesie, you freaky pervert. And I was being polite those times. This is how I usually sleep at home," Brian says, motioning to his current outfit.

"I'm not complaining," Jimmy says. "Just observing."

"Well, observe something else," Brian says, sliding under the covers. He sighs when Jimmy turns away without a response and starts unbuttoning his sleeves. "Jimmy, I'm just really tired, ok? My sleep schedule is fucked, and I'd just like to conk out for a few hours.”

"What's wrong with your sleep schedule?" Jimmy asks.

"Just not getting enough, that's all." Brian says.

"Do you need me to stop calling you when I'm-"

"No!" Brian shouts, half leaping out of the bed. "I mean, no, of course not. You know you can always call me if you need to talk, right?"

Jimmy has stopped unbuttoning his shirt, unnervingly quiet as he faces the wall.

"I never want you to think you can't talk to me, buddy,” Brian says.

Jimmy resumes unbuttoning his shirt, turning around with a thin smile that Brian sees right through. "Of course, I know that. The same to you, if it'll help you sleep better."

Brian nods and falls back against the pillows, closing his eyes. "I'll keep it in mind," he says.

He hears Jimmy rustle around for a few more minutes before settling into bed and turning off the lights. Brian stares up at the blinking light on the fire alarm, laying there in the dark and wondering if he should say something.

Brian thinks Jimmy's fallen asleep, but then he speaks.

"Why do you always pick up?"

"What do you mean?" Brian mumbles. His fuzzy, sleepy thoughts aren't processing Jimmy's question very well.

"You never let it just ring. No matter what time I call you,” Jimmy explains.

"I never will just let it ring. I told you that you could always call me if you needed to talk, and I keep my promises." Brian says. He thought that was obvious to Jimmy. Apparently not.

There's a moment of silence.

"Brian?" Jimmy asks.

"Yeah?" Brian responds.

"I- I just--” Jimmy stops, then starts again. "Thank you."

"No problem," Brian says. "Don't even worry about it."

They say no more. Brian drifts off, wondering what has Jimmy so wound up.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

In the morning, Brian feels a little naked, only wearing a t-shirt and boxers. However, Jimmy stays sound asleep when he hops out of bed.

Brian sneaks into the bathroom, gets dressed, and goes out the door before his friend even wakes up. He comes back to the room with coffee and bagels, and finds Jimmy tying his shoes on the bed. His hair is wet and flattened, obviously freshly showered. He looks much better than he did yesterday.

"Ready to get started?" Brian asks, handing Jimmy a cinnamon-raisin bagel with lots of butter— Jimmy's favorite. "Bev just texted me. Jack wants our butts downstairs and ready to go as soon as possible."

"Aw' set," Jimmy says around a mouthful of bagel. "Lefs go."

Brian and Jimmy meet Will and Beverly by the car. They both look refreshed, even Will, who always looks half-asleep.

Jack appears a few minutes later, shaking his head. “Just got another call," he says. "Change of plans. We've got another victim, this time in Davenport. We're bringing the body back to the local morgue, since the first two victims are already being transported here."

Another crime scene, another long ass drive. Jack steps in front of Beverly as she moves towards the driver's side door. “Katz, you can't do all the driving. I'll take the wheel for this one.” She shrugs and takes the back row to herself. Will sits in the front passenger seat.

"Where did you find a bakery?" Beverly asks Brian when he hands her an onion bagel.

"I can always find good breakfast spots," Brian says. "It's part of my charm and winning personality."

Jack pulls up to the crime scene when Brian's phone reads 10:03. The park is a wide open space with a rounded central plaza. In the center of the plaza is a gazebo. The victim's body is draped over the brick steps leading up to the structure, covered by a sheet.

This time, the victim was found by a morning jogger. “I talked to the first officer on the scene,” Jack says. “One of their sheriffs drove by the park about five am and the body wasn't here, so it can't have been placed more than five hours ago.

"ID on the body is Angela Rankin." Jack kneels down and pulls back the top of the sheet to reveal an older woman in a flowing, robe-like dress. She has curly auburn hair and pale, wrinkled skin.

"Sixty-seven years old, sells jewelry in Williamsburg,” Jack continues. “Also the leader of a local pagan group."

A deep slash runs down her torso along her sternum. Another slash runs perpendicular across her breastbone. A piece of paper sticks out of her mouth with the time 19:26 written in blood. Her lips are open wide enough to let them see that her tongue is missing.

Jack stands up, taking the rest of the sheet with him. "You know the drill, clear everybody out."

Brian, Jimmy and Beverly clear the scene for Will and Jack. This time, Jack lets them stay close by to hear what Will says as he examines the scene. Will takes a while with this one, he's kneeling silently, unmoving, for at least five minutes, and Brian is starting to wonder whether he's fallen asleep when he speaks.

"This is morally motivated," Will says as he stands and motions for the three of them to come over. "The killer feels righteous. The way he sacrifices them is designed to cure them of the sins they've committed. The scientist used her brain to taint the crops of God's creation, and the tattoo artist used his hands to make abominable marks on pure, untouched skin. The councilor advocated for same-sex relationships, hence the removal of the genitals. This woman lead what the killer considers a sinful cult, using her tongue to encourage members of the congregation to believe things that go against sacred law."

"Religious killings," Beverly says. "Those slashes weren't just to kill her. He was carving a cross into her."

"Which means that those numbers aren't times," Jimmy says. "They're Bible verses. Leviticus. 19:19-- 'Do not plant your field with two kinds of seed'. I guess hybrid crops count as two kinds of seed. 19:28-- 'Do not cut your bodies for the dead or put tattoo marks on yourselves.' That one's pretty clear. 18:22-- 'Do not have sexual relations with a man as one does with a woman; that is detestable.' Also pretty obvious. And now," Jimmy takes leans down and plucks the paper from the victim's mouth, unrolling it to read, "19:26-- 'Do not practice divination or seek omens.'"

"The rest of you heard that, right? I wasn't have a seizure and hallucinating that whole speech." Beverly says.

"I went to Catholic school," Jimmy shrugs. "We read a lot of Bible verses, learned a lot of rules... And how to break them.” He glances at Brian and gives him a wink. Brian hides his own smirk, knowing just how good Jimmy is about breaking some of those rules.

Jimmy turns his attention back to Jack before continuing. "They all make sense in relation to each of the victims,” he says.

"This will cause a media shit-storm,” Jack grumbles. “Just what we need.” He shoves his hands into his coat pockets. ”Alright. Let's bag and tag, people, I don't want to hang around any longer than needed.”

They sweep the scene and examine the body. News vans line up around the street, and the team tries to process what needs to be done as fast as they can.

"Vultures," Brian growls, looking across the plaza at the vans. "They know this is going to be big."

"They're doing their jobs," Beverly says, photographing the body, "just like we're doing ours."

"Jack is right, though," Jimmy says. "Religion is always a hot topic for the news cycle. This will get _both_ Christians and atheists in a tizzy."

"You're gonna hear some Pat Robertson type saying that it's about time somebody took God's law into their own hands," Brian says. “And then some bishop is going to blame the victims for their own deaths."

"Well then those assholes will have to answer to the scientists and the gay people and the tattooed in their congregation," Jimmy says, giving Brian a pointed look. Shit, Brian forgot that Jimmy's still a bit of a Christian. Apparently the bible verses didn't remind him.

Brian's parents raised him without religion. He has never quite understood how Jimmy can still belong to an organization that reviles his very existence. It seems like some weird form of Stockholm Syndrome. Jimmy would probably give him hell for saying that.

The team loads up the body when they're finished. Jack drives them back to the Ithaca morgue, and by the time they get there, the bodies of the first two victims have arrived. They set up all four bodies next to each other, taking up most of the space in the examination room. Pretty soon, Jack brings back the toxicology reports for Mr. Callaghan, Will at his heels.

Jimmy reads the reports aloud. "He's got the same drug in him that the last two did. Also, his BAC was .1 at time of death."

"He went to a bar that night," Will says. "If we can trace which one, we might find camera footage of him leaving with someone."

"I'll call Mr. Callaghan's secretary," Jack says. "She should know which bars he frequented."

After documenting the cross-shaped slashes, taking samples for toxicology, and looking for any signs of trauma, they cut Ms. Rankin out of her dress and slice her open. Jimmy and Beverly work on Ms. Rankin while Brian examines the original two victims.

The amputation of Ms. Ramirez' skull is more jagged and tattered than Mr. Dunham's wrists. _He's inexperienced_ , Brian thinks. _But_ h _e—or she, did better the second time around._

Brian can't find anything the original coroner missed, so he closes the bodies back up and helps Jimmy and Beverly collect samples from the most recent victim.

"I wonder what he's doing with the parts he removes," Beverly says while they work. "What's the point of taking them anyway?"

"Look at this," Brian says. "The first two bodies were sprinkled with plant fragments. They were identified as _ruta graveolens_ , some type of herb. We found similar looking pieces on Mr. Callaghan and Ms. Rankin."

"The herb of grace," Jimmy says. "It was used in traditional Christian ceremonies as a symbol of repentance."

"So it's ritualistic. He's cleansing them," Brian says. "What part of the ritual would require taking body parts?"

"A burnt offering," Jimmy explains. "We know the victims didn't die at the crime scenes, so wherever this guy is killing them, we'll probably find some type of altar or shrine with the crispy remains of the missing body parts."

"Wonderful," Beverly sighs. "This is getting weirder and weirder."

Beverly finishes examining the fibers she found as Brian and Jimmy close Ms. Rankin back up.

"It's not a unique textile," Beverly says, showing them the strands under the microscope. "Pure black cotton fibers, used in mass-produced clothing."

"Similar fibers were found on one of the other bodies," Brian says, checking the file on Mr. Dunham.

"I guess someone has a special murder shirt they like," Jimmy quips. "Of course he wouldn't wear any polyester-cotton blends either, that's an abomination."

"Maybe he'll kill a seamstress next," Brian suggests.

"There are plenty of laws to break, and plenty of people to break them in New York. Mixed-fiber clothing seems low on the list of crimes this guy would care about." Jimmy says.

"He killed someone for working on hybrid crops," Beverly points out. "I don't think he cares about which rules are the worst to break."

 

~

 

Around eight o'clock, Jack gives them the go ahead to clean up and head out.

"Will, find us a place to eat around here," Jack says, handing Will the keys. "You're the only one who knows anything about this area."

Will takes them to a bistro called Simeons. Brian orders a thick cheeseburger and extra fries, because he knows Jimmy's going to end up stealing them. Beverly and Jack get sandwiches, Will goes with a turkey dinner, and Jimmy gets a salad.

While they're waiting for their food, they discuss the case.

"So we're looking for someone devout," Jack says, draining his soda. "Attends church several times a week, probably well known to the congregation."

"I always knew those ladies who ran the annual church picnics were evil," Jimmy jokes.

"Price, we've got a two-hundred mile radius to search, which includes a city of eight million," Jack says. “I'm looking for a real lead here."

"We can't just start interviewing every person who goes to mass, unless we really want to cause a scandal," Brian says. "There's got to be another connection between these people."

"As morbid as it sounds, we may have to wait for another victim before we can tie them together," Beverly says.

Brian nods, not wanting to agree, but unable to see any other choice.

 

~

 

It's about nine-thirty when Brian and Jimmy return to the motel. Jimmy flips on the TV, tuning in to some sort of “true crime” show. Brian sits cross-legged on the bed, massaging his toes and trying to convince himself that he's not old enough to need shoe inserts. The tick of the clock on the wall beats a steady staccato against his thoughts.

"This feels so domestic," Jimmy says. "I should be in a dressing gown, and you should be wearing a facial mask."

Brian snorts, grabbing his tablet off the side table and opening the Stephen King novel he's been reading all week. "You're not allowed to see me without my makeup. It's undignified."

"Don't worry, honey, I'll always think you're beautiful."

"Oh, shut it." Brian would throw the tablet at Jimmy's head, but it's a rather expensive device. "It's not like this is much different from whenever we hang out together. There's just no Netflix involved. Or alcohol."

"Both of which are sorely missed," Jimmy says.

Brian gives him a look.

"Relax, you teetotaler, I wasn't suggesting we get some.” Jimmy sighs, then adds under his breath, “I wasn't in the mood for a lecture tonight.”

"I wouldn't lecture you," Brian says. "You know exactly what I'd say. It's what I always say."

"Why do I have younger friends if they're not going to enable my bad habits?" Jimmy asks, trying for levity.

It falls flat.

"I'd be a bad friend if I enabled your bad habits," Brian replies.

"You're just no fun, are you.”

"I'm sorry that watching you drink every night until you pass out doesn't appeal to me." Brian's starting to feel that bubbling, danger anger that's gotten him into trouble before. "I guess I'm a Debbie Downer."

"No, you're just uptight." Jimmy's voice has gone flat.

_Well excuse me for calling you out on your shit,_ Brian thinks.

"I'm concerned about you," Brian says. "That's all I've ever been, and it's gone right over your head more times than I can count."

"I don't need you to be my mother, Brian," Jimmy says, glaring at him. "I've already got one of those, and I sure as hell don't need another."

"Then what _do_ you need? Someone to say 'yeah, of course Jimmy, you go ahead and poison yourself, I'll be here to carry you out of the bar when you're done'?"

"That might be nice to hear instead of the guilt trip."

"For fuck's sake!” Brian slams his fist on the mattress, which doesn't really give off the impression he was trying for. He slides off the bed and slips on his shoes, heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" Jimmy asks, “can't handle a little argument?"

Brian spins and looks at Jimmy with fire in his eyes. "I am not someone you can make your excuses to,” he spits out. “If you can't tell the difference between someone guilting you and someone who's _terrified_ of losing you, then how the _fuck_ are we even friends?"

Jimmy doesn't have an immediate response.

Brian leaves before he can come up with one.

 

~

 

The air has cooled significantly outside, and Brian curses himself for not bringing a jacket. He curls his arms around his chest and tries to remember which room Beverly is staying in. When he knocks on what he thinks is the right door, he's relieved to see her open it up.

“Brian,” Beverly says, raising an eyebrow. “Come to ravish me in the night?”

“Ha-ha,” Brian mumbles. He clutches his arms tightly and brushes past her, walking into her room.

"What happened?" She asks as she closes the door behind her.

Brian sits on the edge of the bed. "Why would you think something happened?"

"Jimmy's not here with you," she says, “And you look really pissed off. You two fight again?"

Brian nods.

Beverly sighs. "Same as usual?"

Brian groans. "Fuck, I feel like a drink right now, isn't that messed up?" he says, dropping his head to his hands.

"It's not," Beverly says as she sits down next to him. "A lot of people self-medicate with alcohol occasionally. You're a normal person. Jimmy's just not wired that way; it's not something he can help."

Brian fists his knuckles into the bed, grinding his frustration into the sheets. "How many times am I going to have to sit there and plead with him until he pulls his head out of his ass and gets help?"

"Maybe a lot more," she says. "Maybe he never will. Alcoholism is often trauma-related, and he might not be ready to face that yet."

"I just wish he would tell me what it is," Brian sighs. "I just want to help him. Why won't he let me in?"

"I don't want to assume anything," Beverly says. Brian gives her a confused look.

"It's nothing, I'm being a damn idiot." Beverly rests her head on his shoulder. "Do you want to crash here tonight? I have a spare bed.”

Brian shakes his head. "I'll go back in a little bit. I want to be there in case he does want to talk."

Brian realizes that he still has his tablet with him, tucked under his arm. "Show me that video of your niece you were talking about," he says, handing her the device.

 

~

 

In an hour Brian leaves Beverly's room and makes his way back to his own. The room is dark and quiet when he opens the door. Jimmy is cocooned under the covers so Brian can't see his face. The man is either asleep or he doesn't want to talk, because he makes no movements the whole time Brian undresses for bed.

Brian slips under the covers of the other bed and listens for the sound of Jimmy's breathing. It's soft but haggard, and there is a shudder at the end of each breath.

_He's been crying._ The thought punches Brian in the gut like a fist. _Shit, I didn't want-_

He doesn't know what he could possibly say. If he tries to apologize, Jimmy would just call him a hypocrite, and he'd be right. Brian doesn't want to cause Jimmy any pain, but talking about his drinking will always end that way. For both of them.

Brian has trouble falling asleep. He wants to reach out, put a hand on his friend's shoulder, and just- _no_ , he thinks. _What I really want to do is crawl into bed with him and hold him until he can let out everything he's holding back._

Brian loves Jimmy to death. Over the years, his love has changed in form, morphing like a butterfly breaking out of its chrysalis. Once, only the fierce devotion of friendship made Brian want to have Jimmy's back in whatever challenge they faced. Yet slowly, quietly, it changed, until one day Brian looked up at Jimmy over the exam table and thought, _I can't imagine facing a day without you_.

But Brian knows Jimmy doesn't have the stability right now to handle that sort of devotion, even if Jimmy felt half the same way about Brian. Which he probably doesn't. So Brian buries it all, six feet down in the earth of his heart, because he can deal with it by himself. He won't burden Jimmy with more emotional baggage.

Brian drifts off into a restless slumber, listening to the shaky breaths in the other bed and hating himself for not having the courage to tell Jimmy how he really feels.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

In the morning, they do not speak. Jimmy doesn't look at Brian or acknowledge his presence, just brushes past him as they dress for work.

 _Well, sharing a room is going to suck for the rest of the trip_ , Brian thinks, tugging on his pants. _I wonder how long it's going to take for us to get back to normal this time_.

They leave the room and make their way down to the car. Beverly gives Brian a questioning look as they get in the side door. Brian just shakes his head and mouths, _don't_.

They are in the lab going over the results of all the toxicology reports when Jack flies in, looking furiously excited.

"We've got another one," Jack says. "Pack up, we're going to Schenectady."

They make the drive in three hours. Jack puts on the siren as Beverly speeds down the highway. The people in the car are mostly silent during the ride. Jimmy has his headphones on and is using music to ignore Brain. Brian makes the best of it. Will is being more talkative, and he and Brian discuss old TV shows like Star Trek and Twin Peaks. _Who ever thought there would come a day that I'd want to talk to Will Graham more than Jimmy_ , Brian thinks.

The victim was discovered at a pig farm that morning, when the day manager went to inspect the slaughterhouse.

"Marsha Wyman," Jack says, pointing to the hanging body when they enter the building. "Fifty-three, owns this place. Body was hung from the hooks that the workers use to drain the blood after slaughter. Her wrists and ankles were cut and allowed to drain."

A large bloody stain is under the body. The rest of the blood must've passed down into the drainage built into the floor.

"No one's touched her, and she doesn't appear to have any parts missing. There's another piece of paper in the mouth," Jack continues, pointing to the scrap waving in the wind coming through the door. "I'm guessing we'll find something missing from there."

"Chapter eleven, verse seven," Jimmy says. "'And the pig, though it has a divided hoof, does not chew cud; it is unclean for you.'"

"I can't believe you remember all of those verses," Beverly says. "I'm going to quiz you later on."

Brian says nothing, watching the paper in Ms. Wyman's mouth flap back and forth like a thin waggling tongue.

Will does his thing: the closing eyes, the mumbling under his breath like he's making snarky comments about them all, the frozen stance.

"We're looking for someone moderately strong," Will finally says, pointing to the hooks. "She's at least one hundred sixty pounds judging by her build. He had to lift her up fully to get her on one of those. He doesn't see her as a pig. He just thinks the punishment should fit the crime."

When they take the body down from the hook, Brian opens her mouth and looks inside. "She's missing her teeth," he says, looking at the bloody mess of her gums. "He pulled them all out."

"The crime's in the eating, not the raising," Jimmy says.

"Look," Briansays, lifting up a hand. "That's blood under the nails. She definitely scratched something, probably her killer."

"We've got DNA," Beverly says, grinning at him. "And if we can find a match, we can check for scratch marks on the suspect."

"That's the _first_ thing you test," Jack says. "Alright, people, let's get this scene swept down!"

 

~

 

By the time they examine the whole building and make it back to the morgue, it's around six.

"Long night ahead," Beverly says, nodding at Jimmy and Brian. "I'm going to get us some food. I'll be back in twenty."

Brian and Jimmy are left alone in the examination room, staring at each other.

"Let's get started," Jimmy says, turning to the hook where his coat hangs and shrugging it on. "Do you want to scrape under the nails while I check for fibers?"

"Jimmy..." Brian feels like he has to say something, but he has no idea what will fix this. Jimmy looks at him, and Brian's throat goes dry; there's an icy indifference to his friend's expression that hasn't changed since the morning.

"Swabbing," Brian says. "I'll take care of the swabbing."

Brian has the DNA running through the national database before Beverly gets back, bearing deli sandwiches for all three of them. Brian picks out a ham and cheese one, and then, remembering the case they're solving, loses his appetite for it and goes for the turkey instead. Will comes in to join them, talking quietly with Beverly as they work, and throwing out ideas in response to their questions.

"Her liver is severely diseased," Beverly says, displaying the organ on the metal table. "And her BAC test came back; she was at .14 when she died."

"Wait," Brian says, "Ms. Rankin also had a lousy looking liver." He grabs the file and lays out the records on the table. "No alcohol in the system at the time of death."

"Mr. Callaghan did though," Jimmy says.

"His liver was fine," Beverly says.

"His liver was _young_ ," Jimmy says. "He may have only started heavily drinking recently. But alcohol consumption has nothing to do with the laws in Leviticus, and we already know why they were being killed."

"Maybe that's not why they were killed," Will says, looking like he just had a revelation. "Maybe that's just how he found them."

"At bars?" Jimmy says.

"No," Brian says, "you don't go spilling your personal lives to strangers at bars unless you're looking to sleep with them. And considering some of the victims are men, I'm not sure a homophobic serial killer would go that route to find victims."

"But where would heavy drinkers talk about their problems to strangers?" Will says.

"AA meetings," Beverly replies. "The anonymity means that it'll be harder to find out which meetings the victims attended."

Jack comes back into the room with a dour look on his face. "No registry match for the DNA," he says, and they all curse in unison. "We need to look back at what we've got."

"I think I may be able to help with that," Jimmy says, holding up the zip-tie that was used on Ms. Wyman. "I found another partial print. If we combine this with the one on the other zip-tie, we might be able to find a match."

"You do that right now," Jack says. "I want results in twenty minutes, tops."

Beverly explains their thoughts about the AA meetings to Jack. He gives them a long, hard stare, as if they're idiots. "Where are AA meetings usually held?" He says flatly.

"Churches." Brian says.

"And what type of motivation does this killer have?" Jack asks.

"He's killing sinners, Jack," Jimmy calls out, "we get that it's probably a congregation member already."

"Not the congregation," Jack says. "Who is the only person that would likely be at the church during the meeting, but wasn't attending it? Who would have complete knowledge of the bible and a strong desire to see it followed?"

"A priest," Will says. "It's a priest."

"The black fibers," Beverly says. "They could've come from his clerical robes."

"Anything on that fingerprint yet, Price?" Jack asks.

"Working on it," Jimmy says. "I think I've finally got them placed correctly in relation to one another. Now we just have to wait for it to-" There's a ping, and Jimmy stops, looking bewildered. "That was faster than I thought. We've got a match." He turns the computer screen so that they can all see it. "Father Thomas Blake, forty-five, operates out of Our Lady of Peaceful Reign in Nyack."

"Everybody vest up," Jack says, jumping up and leading them out. "We've got a suspect."

 

~

 

Jack radios ahead to the police department in Nyack. They inform him that the father was reported missing two weeks ago by several of his congregation members, who said that he never showed up to daily mass, and was nowhere to be found in the priest's living quarters. He is the only pastor at the church, so services had to be halted during the search, which means the church has been mostly uninhabited during this period.

"Wait, what?" Jack says. "Ok, make sure the _entire_ building is secure by the time we get there." He hangs up and addresses his team. "There's another body. They just found it on the second floor. Our missing body parts might have turned up as well."

Beverly manages to get them to the scene by five AM. The church is a large, two-story structure, with thin stained glass windows on the first floor and large open ones on the second. The exterior is simple wood and brick. There's a small living quarter detached and off to the side, and a graveyard in the back. Three police cars sit outside of the building.

When the team gets out of the car, one of the officers walks up to them. "Evening," she says. "We've secured the building. The sheriff says you can enter the scene."

Jack nods to her and looks to his team. "Price and Zeller, I want you laying down a path of tarp before we go up. Apparently, it's a mess, and I don't want anyone picking up evidence on their shoes. Katz, start securing the ground floor. This entire building needs to be searched. Will and I will take a quick look around the outside with lights while we wait for you to finish."

There are two rolls of blue tarp in the back of the SUV. Brian and Jimmy each grab one and head inside to the first floor. The church isn't that big: there are two rows of pews, a marble altar, and a large crucifix hanging from the rafters. On the right side of the altar stands a door with a staircase leading upwards. The lights are dim, and it's hard to see the corners of the room.

"You'd think they would've turned up the lights for us," Brian says.

Jimmy doesn't respond, just moves over to the doorway. Brian sighs and follows him up.

There is only one room upstairs: a large, open space with yellowing walls and a few old pews stacked against the back wall. The body lays in the center of the floor. A very young woman, probably only in her early twenties, is sprawled out across the floorboards, staring slack-jawed at the ceiling. A gaping wound tears the bottom of her torso. Brian has a sickening idea about what Father Blake had taken out of her.

Brian and Jimmy set down their tarps. "Look at this," Jimmy says, motioning to the front wall of the room. A wide table is set up with a pile of charred ash in the center. A wooden cross hangs from the wall in front. Brian can see bulbous, blackened shapes in the ashes, and recognizes a few fingers.

"I guess we found the shrine," Jimmy says, leaning closer to get a better look. "Come here and check it out."

Brian moves to take a step forward.

He stops when he feels a cold, hard barrel pressed against the back of his head and hears a distinct click in his ear.

"Don't move," says a deep, masculine voice.

Jimmy looks back and freezes, eyes widening. He pulls out his gun and levels it at the man behind Brian. The man presses the barrel harder into the back of Brian's head and grips his other hand into the back of Brian's shirt. He thrusts Brian forward, using Brian as a shield between himself and Jimmy's gun.

"Tell your friend to leave and have the building cleared out,” the man says, “or I'll put a bullet in your brain, and then his."

"J-Jimmy." Brian's voice cracks. "Get out of here."

"No, I-" Jimmy starts.

"Get everyone out of here and tell Jack what's happened. _Now._ " He mouths _please_ to Jimmy, who looks so torn . Brian thinks Jimmy is going to do something stupid, but finally, he backs out of the room and out the door, gun still trained on the man behind Brian. His eyes don't leave Brian's until he passes the threshold.

The man grasps at Brian's waist, taking his gun from its holster. "Hands on the back of your head."

Brian lifts his hands back and watches as the man, now holding two guns, steps around to the front and closes the door, locking it with a key from his pocket.

"How did you get in here?" Brian asks. "They, they swept the scene."

The man, a tall, muscular fellow with shock-white hair, puts a finger to his lips. "Not everywhere," he says, walking behind Brian and pressing on a piece of the paneling.

Brian glances back, choking down a gasp when he sees that a panel of the wall has sunk into the wall. The man slides it to the side, exposing an inner room that didn't show up on any of the blueprints for this place.

"This church once housed runaway slaves," the man says. "There's a stairway on the opposite side of the altar, built into the walls, that leads up to that room."

"You're Father Blake," Brian realizes. He can see the white square in the center of his collared black shirt. "You've been missing for two weeks."

"Not missing," Father Blake says. "Just beginning the new work that the Lord has given me."He motions with the guns. "We're going to go in there now. Slowly."

He marches Brian into the hidden room. It's small, made of old, unfinished wood panels. There are no windows, and only a battery powered lamp lights the space. There are some boxes stacked in a corner, and Brian pales when he sees various sharp implements poking out of one of them. _Murder weapons_ , he thinks.

"Get on your knees," the Father orders.

"Please," Brian says as he lowers himself down. "Don't kill me. I can help you talk to them."

The Father throws back his head and laughs, deep and throaty. "I'm not going to send you to the Lord, my child," he says. "I need you if I am to continue my work." He pulls something out of his pocket, long and thin and flexible. A zip-tie. "Put your hands behind your back."

Brian does as he's told. Father Blake tightens the zip-tie around Brian's wrists and then adds a second. He pushes Brian back onto his rump, pulling his ankles together and zip-tying them as well. Brian pushes and pulls against the ties; they're of a good quality, and he won't be getting out of them any time soon.

"My boss is gonna want to talk to you," Brian says.

Brian's phone starts ringing in his pocket a second later. The Father keeps a gun trained on his head as he reaches down and pulls the phone out of Brian's pocket, sliding his finger across the screen to answer it.

"Hello? Yes, I have him right here. Father Blake. Well, we're going to have to talk about that, aren't we?" He glances at Brian and frowns. "I'll put him on if it makes you feel better.”

He holds the phone out towards Brian."I'm going to put you on speaker," he says. "If you tell him where we are, I will shoot you in the head."

Brian nods, and the Father presses the speaker phone button. "Zeller?" comes Jack's voice, booming into the room.

"I'm here," Brian says. "I'm not hurt."

"Good. We're going to do everything we can to resolve this situation peacefully, alright?" Jack''s voice is calm, but Brian knows his boss. He's anything but calm at the moment. "I've got a negotiator coming to-"

"No, I will be speaking to you directly, Agent Crawford," Father Blake says. "If you would like to see your agent again in one piece, you will keep everyone out of the building and listen to my demands. I'm going to need ten thousand dollars in unmarked bills, and a helicopter to see me out of here."

"That will take time," Jack says. "Several hours at least."

"You have an hour and a half," Father Blake says. "Or I'll start cleansing your agent like I have everyone else."

Brian feels a wave of nausea wash over him, thinking back to what was done to the victims.

"I'll call you again in half an hour to get a report.” Father Blake hangs up and tosses the phone onto one of the boxes, along with Brian's gun.

Brian watches as the Father moves around the room, pulling things out of the boxes and setting objects onto the table against the back wall. "You killed those people."

"I cleansed them," Father Blake replies. "I stopped them from tainting other innocents. I've always been frustrated by the little lost lambs who enter my church." He squats down in front of Brian, flipping the gun over and over between his fingers. "I've spent twenty years trying to save their souls, and watched them ignore the simplest of commands that have been bestowed to us by God. I finally realized that to save the souls of many, some must be cleansed as examples."

"So they were your... examples," Brian says, a sick feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

"They were leaders in their communities of sin," Father Blake says, smiling down at the weapon in his hands. "Homosexuals, Pagans, those marked with ink by the devil. Those under the influence of Satan are often weak and show their weaknesses through vices like alcohol, so it was easy enough to find some candidates. By removing them, I cut one of the heads of the hydra off. But more heads grow back in their place. I will not stop until the Lord tells me that my work is complete." He stands up, looking Brian up and down. "I wonder, lamb, what your weaknesses are? Would you like me to cleanse them?"

Brian sucks in a shuddering breath and shakes his head vigorously. "I'm good, thanks." Father Blake stares at him for a bit longer, then shrugs and moves to continue what he was doing before.

 _What have I gotten myself into_ , Brian thinks. He tries not to scream.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

 

Brian can hear the sounds of sirens and muffled yelling come through the walls of the room. He shifts his arms, trying to see if he can wiggle out of the ties, but it's no use. He's completely incapacitated. _T_ _his is the worst possible situation ever_ , he thinks. _I am going to strangle whoever did a shit job of sweeping this place._

He sees the body of the latest murder victim out in the next room, laying limply in a pool of blood. He swallows. For a moment, he sees himself in her place: eyes wide open, unmoving, body cut from navel to groin. A wave of nausea arcs through Brian's body. He could die here if the negotiation goes wrong. _I won't get to say goodbye_ , he thinks. _I need to say goodbye, please..._

Jack calls again at the half hour mark. "I told you that I would call," drawls Father Blake. "You're testing my patience, Agent Crawford."

"We are working on getting that helicopter," Jack says through the speaker phone. "I just need to know that my Agent is still alright, or we're going to have a problem."

"I'm okay," Brian says. "Tell... tell Jimmy and Beverly not to worry, okay?"

"I'll do that," Jack says. "I will call you as soon as I have confirmation that the helicopter is on its way, Father Blake."

"Time is ticking. I hope you hurry," the Father says. He hangs up the phone and taps his fingers on his chin thoughtfully. "Jimmy... Wasn't he the one who came up with you?"

Brian nods. "He's my coworker.”

"More than that, I'm sure,” Father Blake says. “You don't tell your boss to specifically give a message to your coworker unless they mean something to you."

"My friend, then," Brian says. "He's my friend."

"Have you known each other long?"

"Yeah, um, years. He and Bev are like... like family."

"I watched him, his face, when I pressed my gun your head," Father Blake says. "It looked like he wanted to fly across the room. To break you free." His voice holds the air of curiosity, but Brian senses an ulterior motive underneath his questions.

"Like I said, he's family. Of course he cares about me."

Father Blake smirks in a knowing manner. “There was a fire in his eyes. A spark of the devil in the way he looked at you.”

Brian's stomach sinks. He knows this guy's MO. "We're just friends," he insists.

"I wonder if you would say the same thing if he was here, in the same position you're in,” the priest muses. “I wonder what you would do if you watched me cleanse him, cutting the devil from his eyes and offering it to the Lord."

Brian can't help the moment of terrified rage that crosses his face.

Father Blake smiles. "I see. I should have kept him, but this would have been so much messier if I had." He paces, muttering a prayer under his breath.

Brian checks the cracks in the room, knowing the first thing the team will do is try to get a visual on his whereabouts with a pinhole camera. He rests his head back against the wall and adjusts his position, the ties grating against his skin. There's going to be a red rash ringing his wrists for days if- _when_ he gets out of this.

_But I don't know for sure, do I?_ he thinks, watching Father Blake stride back and forth. The man looks like he's trying to stay calm, but there are beads of sweat forming on his brow, and his hands are starting to shake. _He's nervous. The rational part of him is starting to realize he's not going to get out of this. He might just let me go... or he might snap and try to take us both out._

There's a bubble of panic working its way through his chest. He breathes deep, tries to push it away, but it swells, drowning his mind in desperate thoughts of people he doesn't want to leave. _Bev and I, we had tickets to a concert next month, I can't let her go alone, and who's going to cut the turkey for mom on Thanksgiving?, and Jack promised me a beer and I've never taken him up on it, what was I waiting for..._

But even those thoughts are a distraction, because there's a pair of tired brown eyes and a soft, wry smile crowding his mind, and he's scared of losing that most of all.

_what was I waiting for..._

_I have to tell him_. _No matter what... he has to know_.

 

~

 

Jack Crawford is about to wring the neck of every person here _._ Even though the SWAT team should be able to see Zeller through the window of the second floor room, they can't get a visual on his whereabouts.

Jack is surrounded by seemingly dozens of ( _damn incompetent fucking moronic_ ) cops, and his back is to an ambulance, on call just in case. The team is trying to get a pinhole camera up into the room, but without being able to tell where Blake is holding Zeller, any move they make towards the house could be seen as a sign of aggression. Blake might be crazy enough to take both himself and Zeller out before the team can get inside.

_That damn helicopter had better be on its way_ , Jack thinks. The county patrol had given him shit about 'it's our only helicopter!' As if that was more important than _his agent's life._ Jack had given them such a piece of his mind that they'd gone scrambling to get it in the air. It would arrive right at the time limit, and he prayed that there were no delays; otherwise, he'd have to stall.

Will walks up to Jack. "Beverly is trying to convince Jimmy not to go running in there like an idiot," Will says, leaning against the car next to him. "This is a bad scenario, Jack. No visuals, our ransom is cutting it close, and we don't even know where he's holding Zeller."

"I want to know how Blake got into that room in the first place," Jack says. "Price said he just appeared out of thin air, and there wasn't enough furniture in that room for him to hide behind while two teams of officers swept the building."

"What year was this place built?" Will asks.

Jack raises an eyebrow. "Mid-1800s, I think,” he says. “You want to see the blueprints?"

Will nods. "Yeah, I want to check something."

Jack hands him the papers, and Will walks off with them, probably to get some quiet space to think.

Jack glances back to see Katz and Price sitting together on the rear lip of the ambulance. Katz is rubbing Price's shoulders, and Jack sees her lips moving, speaking words that he doubts are getting through to the man. Meanwhile, Price won't take his eyes off the window of the second floor. His lips are pursed, knuckles whitened from his grip on the ambulance bumper. His body is tense, coiled like a wire, and he looks like he wants to bolt into the building.

Jack has seen the way Price and Zeller interact. You'd have to be blind to miss how much they care about each other. _Are they..._

No, he won't think about that. He doesn't much like what that would mean if something goes wrong.

_But it's not going to go wrong,_ Jack thinks, staring back at the house. _Everyone's getting out of this alive._

 

~

 

Jack checks in again with them on the hour.

"I have good news, Father Blake. The helicopter is within twenty minutes of landing," Jack says. Brian's heart surges. "Your money is almost here as well,” he continues. “We need to talk about negotiating the surrender of your hostage."

"When the helicopter arrives, you land it in front of the building. Right next to the front doors, understand?" Blake looks like he's trying to crush the phone with how tightly he's gripping it. "The pilot needs to leave it there and no one, I mean _no one_ , is to approach it. I'll bring your agent out and let him go right before I take off. I- I don't want anyone within twenty-five feet of the front doors. Got it?"

"Understood," Jack says. "Brian, are you holding up okay?"

Jack just called him Brian. _He_ never _calls me Brian_.

"I'm fine, sir," he says. "No worse than before."

"We're going to get you out of there. We're all very eager to see you,” Jack says.

Blake is staring at Brian when he hangs up, a twitch at the corner of his right eye that makes Brian feel uneasy.

"Time is running out, and I'm still waiting for an answer," Blake says through grit teeth. He goes over to one of the boxes and starts to rummage through it.

"What- what answer?” Brian asks. “I told you everything."

"Not from _you_ ," Blake says, disgust evident in his voice. He stills his hands. “I thought- I thought I gave the Lord enough time to answer my prayers, to tell me whether to go on or to end his work with one last sacrifice.”

Brian feels a nauseous sickness twisting in his gut.

"Everyone's reckoning will come,” Blake continues, turning back to face him. “I just don't know if yours is today."

"It's not," Brian says. "I promise it's not."

" _How would you know_?"

Brian chokes back a gasp as Blake grabs the front of his shirt and drags him up, slamming his back into the wood wall slats. The man is _strong_ , worryingly so. Blake swings his other arm out, and Brian thinks he's going to get punched, but instead he sees what Blake's been holding behind his back, a long, wide blade that he presses against Brian's throat.

"The Lord is testing me today," Blake hisses in Brian's ear. Brian holds his breath and tries not to let the blade cut him open. "He's given you the form of a lamb, to see if I can tell whether there's a wolf underneath. So how do I find out?"

Blake pulls the blade back, and Brian thinks he's going to release him, but then Blake drives the tip of it forward, into Brian's right shoulder. It tears through the bulletproof vest, straight into muscle. Brian yells and kicks his feet at the paneling as Blake twists the blade back and forth.

"Are you the wolf or the lamb, Agent Zeller?” Blake says.

"I don't know!" Brian cries out and slams his shoulders back against the wall, instinctively trying to get away from the blade. "I don't know what you're talking about!" He sobs as Blake twists the blade again, then slides it out of him. The cold air hits the wound, and Brian grits his teeth, trying to stop shaking.

Blake lets go of his shirt, and Brian drops back to the ground in a slump that sends another jolt of agony through his shoulder. "I must pray to the Lord, insist that he tell me what my next direction is," Blake says, moving over to the table and dropping to his knees. He folds his hands in solemn silence.

Brian's breath comes in starts and gasps. The pain in his shoulder makes it impossible to focus. He won't die bleeding out from this—the cut isn't deep enough—but it still hurts, and the way his shoulders are stretched back puts even more pressure on the wound.

_I want to see my friends_ , he thinks. He feels tears slide down his face. _I don't want to die here. I can't die without telling them... I can't die without telling Jimmy..._

Brian can hear a sound in the distance. As it gets closer, he recognizes the noise. _Helicopter blades_. Jack hadn't lied.

He hears the helicopter descending after a few minutes, and the wind from its rotors whips bits of paper and dust around in the shrine room. Brian watches the young victim's dress flapping wildly in the gust.

The arrival of the helicopter doesn't seem to phase Blake. He stays in a silent repose for several more minutes. When he finally rises, he turns with a wide, peaceful smile on his face.

"The helicopter's here," Brian says, watching as Blake goes over to the storage boxes and rummages around. "They should be calling you any minute," he continues.

Blake says nothing.

"You heard it come, right?" Brian tries again.

Blake tinkers with something, and Brian hears a metallic clink against fingernails.

Blake kneels down in front of him, and before Brian can react, he grasps Brian's throat, holding him in place as a hypodermic needle pushes into the side of his neck. Brian twists and tries to scream, but Blake's grip is too tight for him to breathe.

In a moment, Brian feels his limbs begin to grow limp. He struggles to keep himself sitting upright, even as he slides to the floor. _The paralytic_ , the back of his mind is screaming.

Blake lets Brian go and he slumps over fully, unable to move his limbs, only able to breathe and blink.

"I am sorry," Blake says, dragging Brian over to lean him against the table. "We all must be cleansed in the fire today.

“Don't be sad," hecontinues, wiping the tears that stain Brian's face. "Once this is done, we will be home in the arms of the Lord. Your pain is over, my child."

Blake pulls out two large gasoline jugs from behind the boxes.

Brian is unable to make a sound.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

 

"Are you calling him, Jack?" Jimmy asks for the hundredth time. He knows he's being annoying, but the helicopter is here, and the money is five minutes away, and god damn it, they need to get Brian out of there _now_ , because Jimmy won't be able to calm down until he's safe and sound and here, where Jimmy can touch him and know he's alive.

"I'm calling him, I'm calling him," Jack says. "It's ringing. Give me a moment." He walks off.

Meanwhile, Will jogs over to where Jimmy and Beverly are standing. He holds the building blueprints in his hands.

"Jimmy, Bev, take a look at this," he says, pointing to the layout. "These diagonal lines are structural points, where the building is held up by an inter-working of wooden beams. Except..." He points to the left side of the altar on the ground floor, where one square is wider than the others. "This doesn't have any structural significance. If you broke into it, there would be empty space."

"What are you saying?" Beverly asks. "There's something inside there?"

"You were wondering how Blake got into the building," Will says. "Maybe he never left it."

Jack walks back over. "He's not picking up," he says. "I've let it go to voice mail three times. Something's wrong."

"Do you smell that?" Will asks, looking back over to the building. "It's-"

"Smoke," Jimmy gasps, breathing in sharply as he sees flames rising out of the second floor window. "Jack, that's where I left Brian!"

"Everybody move in, _now_!" Jack roars, and as they charge towards the building, the front doors fly open. The inside is lit with flames as a fiery being steps forth, burning from head to toe and laughing.

"An offering to the Lord!" Blake shouts. Jimmy ignores him and races towards the altar, the flames rising up the wooden beams around him. Beverly and Will are right on his tail when a large burning beam from the roof cracks and lands right in front of the two of them, blocking their path. The SWAT team races up the stairs to their right, but Jimmy can almost guarantee that the door will be locked and reinforced; they'll never get to Brian in time.

"There has to be a switch to open a trap door!" Will yells to him. "Find it!"

Jimmy nods and races to the left side of the altar, ducking away from falling debris and praying that the structure will stand long enough to find Brian and get out. He looks along the wall, searching for something out of place, anything that could designate a switch. He spots a piece of paneling half as long as the rest along the bottom of the wall. He presses hard and something clicks. A portion of the wall next to him pops open, and a stairwell leads upwards.

He runs fast, taking the stairs two at a time and bursting out of an upper doorway into a secret room that didn't appear on any of the blueprints. The space is filled with smoke, blinding him to anything more than a foot in front of him. He hacks and coughs, dropping to a crouch and crawling along the floor. "Brian!" he yells. "Tell me where you are!"

He bumps against something soft. There Brian is, slumped against the wall, eyes closed and not breathing. Jimmy doesn't have time to panic; the building is coming apart around them.

There's a long blade with splashes of blood on the tip lying on the floor. Jimmy cuts the zip ties from Brian's wrists and ankles with the knife. He wraps Brian's arms over his shoulders, straining to his feet with a desperate burst of energy. Something gives way in the back of the room, clattering and slamming down to the floor below. Jimmy stumbles back towards the direction he thinks the stairs are.

The smoke is thick and choking. Jimmy feels his consciousness slipping, but he can't let go, can't give up, they're almost out of this. _I won't fail you again_ , he thinks, lunging for the stairwell. He passes the threshold, and after a few steps down he can breathe again. He hears the steps behind them cracking as he drags Brian down, going as fast as he can with Brian's dead weight over his shoulders.

_Too damn big to be a damsel in distress_ , Jimmy thinks, tripping and bumping down the stairwell. _I won't die from smoke inhalation because of you, you bastard._

_Finally_ they reach the bottom of the stairwell. Will and Beverly have found a way around the blockage and are running towards Jimmy. They each thrust an arm under one of his for support, and with the building collapsing behind them, they burst through the front doors and out into the cool morning air.

"Get me oxygen!" Jimmy hears Jack yelling. Someone is tugging Brian's body out of his grasp, and Jimmy cries out in panic, not wanting to be separated from him.

"Price, Price, listen to me.” Jack is grabbing his shoulders. “We need to get you both on air.”

Someone slips a mask over Jimmy's mouth, and he feels his vision clearing as pure oxygen pours into his lungs. Beverly still has an arm under his shoulder, and Will is laying Brian out on a stretcher as EMTs rush over.

"Is he alive?" Jimmy cries, coughing into the mask, legs shaking and barely able to keep up, even with Beverly's support. "Tell me if he's alive!"

Brian sucks in a gasp of air, body going into a coughing fit, though his eyes stay closed. Jimmy's legs slide out from under him, and he buries his face in his hands, heaving into them.

"Hey, shhh, it's alright," Beverly says, kneeling next to him and rubbing his back. "He's alive. You saved him, Jimmy. You saved him."

 

~

 

The first thing that Brian sees when he opens his eyes is a bright white light above his vision. _Shit_ , he thinks. _Please tell me that's a hospital ceiling and not the pearly gates_.

His eyes adjust quickly and the light turns out to be a normal overhead light attached to a tiled ceiling. He feels soft sheets and bedding against his body, and something warm around his left hand. His head throbs and his shoulder aches. _I was stabbed,_ he remembers, blinking and glancing down towards the wound. The edges of bandages are peeking out from underneath his hospital gown. He hears the sound of his heart monitor beeping softly above his head.

Jimmy and Beverly sit on opposite sites of his bed in cushy chairs. Beverly sits on his right, reading a book, seemingly not having noticed that he has woken up.

Jimmy's head is resting against the side of Brian's bed, pressed against his leg, eyes closed. Jimmy's hands are clasped around Brian's left hand, warm and firm and unyielding.

"Good morning. Or afternoon," Brian groans, alerting them to his wakefulness. "Everything hurts."

Beverly drops her book and Jimmy jerks his head up, both staring at him like he's a miracle child.

"So how are you guys?" Brian asks.

"Jesus, Brian," Beverly says, taking his other hand and squeezing it. "You gave us a scare, you know that? Jack's going to have the sheriff's head for having crappy scene security. That should never have happened."

"Believe me," Brian says, wincing as he moves his shoulder. "I agree. This is not the bed I was hoping to sleep in after we finished processing that scene."

"There's not much to process now," Jimmy says. "The whole place burned down. Blake's dead, set himself on fire. Tried to burn you up too," he says, strain evident in his voice. "They're sweeping the scene for remains of the last victim now."

"The last thing I remember is being dosed with that paralytic," Brian says. "And then there was smoke and I passed out. How did I get out of there?"

"Will found the secret passage Blake used," Beverly says. "And then Jimmy used it to get to you before the building collapsed."

"You-" Brian glances over to Jimmy, who's staring at Brian's hand, gripping it tightly between his own. "Jim... thank you."

"I'm going to go get some coffee for us. I'll be back in a few." Beverly says, standing up. She gives Brian a pointed look, motioning with her head towards Jimmy, as if to say _you'd better have a talk while I'm gone._

After Beverly leaves the room, Brian waits for Jimmy to say something,but all he does is stare at their hands clasped together, rubbing his thumbs along the sides of Brian's fingers.

"Jimmy," Brian starts, "I can't- I don't even know how to begin to thank you."

Jimmy shakes his head, finally meeting Brian's eyes. “You've got nothing to thank me for, Zee,” he says. “If- If I hadn't been so damn focused on being mad at you, maybe I would've seen Blake and I could have pulled my gun before, before....”

Brian hears a hitch in Jimmy's breath, and then there are wet streaks sliding down Jimmy's face. "Jesus, Jim,” Brian says. “Stop, it wasn't- it's not your damn fault!”

“Doesn't matter,” Jimmy sniffs, dropping Brian's hand to rub his own face. “Shit... Zee, _I thought I was going to lose you_.”

"You didn't," Brian says. "I'm alive and I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere."

"If you had died, and I had left you there to die-"

"I told you to go, Jimmy. That was _my_ choice."

"It doesn't matter," Jimmy says, looking at him miserably. "I wouldn't... I wouldn't have be able to live with myself if you didn't make it out alive."

"But I _did_ ," Brian says reaching out to clasp one of Jimmy's shaking hands. "Look, I'm right in front of you, you can touch me and everything." He tries for a smile, gets the faintest hint of one. “I'm okay. _We're_ okay.”

Jimmy sniffs again, shaking his head and glancing down at their hands. “No, we're not okay, not yet. I need to talk to you about, about that night we fought.”

“It doesn't matter, I don't care about-”

“It does matter and you do care,” Jimmy says, frowning and biting his lip. “I can't- I can't keep hiding things about me from you. You've put up with so much shit from me, and you deserve to know why.”

"What do you mean?" Brian asks. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm saying, there are things I'm trying to hide- to escape from when I drink, and I want to tell you about them." He looks back to Brian, and there's such a fear of rejection in Jimmy's expression that Brian can't help but grip his hand a little bit tighter.

“Of course, I'm all ears," Brian says. There's a motion in the corner of his eye, and he glances over to see Beverly through the window of the door, looking at him curiously. Brian shakes his head at her when Jimmy looks back down, and she nods and disappears.

“When I was young, I was a bit of a cocky little shit,” Jimmy begins, smirking slightly. “I lived hard and fast, drugs, sex, the whole lot. Worried my folks half to death. Amazing that I didn't get myself killed or infected with anything, especially when the eighties hit and the whole AIDS panic started.

“And then... I met someone when I was twenty-five,” he continues. “Threw me for a loop. Suddenly I didn't just want to sleep around and have fun. I was head-over-heels in love with the guy, I thought we'd spend the rest of our lives together. We shacked up together in Toronto and I got a steady job, and he met my folks, and everything seemed to be going great...” He trails off, looking lost in thought.

“But something happened?” Brian asks gently, trying to keep him focused.

“Right, yeah.” Jimmy sniffs and nods. “He was a smoker, like a chimney. He'd been smoking since he was fourteen, and he was about five years older than me, so he had at least a decade and a half of tar in his lungs. When he was diagnosed with cancer, it shouldn't have been surprising.”

“Oh, Jim,” Brian says, “I'm sorry...”

Jimmy shakes his head. “I couldn't handle it. The first few months of his chemo were okay, but they'd caught it too late. It was destroying his lungs, and transplants weren't very successful at that time. I'd hold him and listen to him _drowning_ in his own breath and... and it felt like I was dying too.

“When, when his parents put him in hospice, something just snapped. I threw everything I could into my car and I... I just left.” He shudders and looks like he's trying not to cry again. “Didn't tell anyone where I was going, obviously didn't have a cell phone. He died while I was halfway across the border and I didn't even know. No one could reach me, his folks tried, my folks tried... I called my mom from a hotel in Delaware and she told me his funeral was the next day and she would pay for me to get on a plane and go back right then... but I just hung up.” Jimmy lets go of Brian's hand and covers his mouth, eyes glassy and wide, heaving in a breath, eyes locked to the floor.

“You were in denial,” Brian says, reaching out to rub circles into Jimmy's back. God, he's leaning forward and his shoulder is _killing him_ and he just wants Jimmy to come closer, wants to grab him and tug him onto the hospital bed and never let go.

Jimmy wipes away some tears, nodding. “I didn't go back to Canada. I settled in Virginia, got a work visa, and put my forensics degree into working for the FBI. I couldn't face what I'd done, couldn't bear to see his grave or look his parents in the eye. He _needed me_ , Zee, in those last days. I should've been there. No one should have to be abandoned on their deathbed.”

“You, you can't still... after all these years?” Jimmy glances up at him, eyes revealing the truth to those words. “Jim, no. So that's why... the alcohol?”

Jimmy nods. “I started drinking heavily after he died, and for a while I was just drinking to forget he ever existed. Right through my first days at Quantico. But I couldn't hold off the memories forever, and then the alcohol became a way to feel good and not focus on how much I hated myself. How I had ruined any chance I ever had at happiness and I'd never deserve to have it again.

“I went on. Contacted my folks eventually, and I think they forgave me. But the pain's never faded fully. It's always in the back of my mind, haunting me. Every time I start a new relationship, it reemerges to remind me that I don't deserve someone when all I'll do is abandon them when they might need me the most. I... I can't do that to another person. I can't do that to _you_ , Brian.” The tears are flowing again, and Brian doesn't think he's ever seen Jimmy look so broken.

But he finally _understands_. Understands the drinking, understands why Jimmy always seems to pull back when they're about to connect in some way that's real.

“Why... why are you telling me this now?” Brian asks, adjusting himself on the bed. He needs to tread carefully in his next words, lest he scare Jimmy away forever.

“I don't know,” Jimmy admits, hiccuping and letting out a weary laugh. “I just- you almost _died_ , Zee. You almost died and, and you're my best friend and I want you to know why I'm _me_.” He wipes his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. “You said that night, if I couldn't see how much you didn't want to lose me, I was a fool. And I, I just can't see why you'd put up with me after everything I've put you through....”

Brian drums his fingers on his lap. “Jim... what did you do when you saw that the church was on fire?”

“I ran inside to find you.”

Brian nods. “You risked your life to save mine. Did you hesitate? Did you think about the fact that you could've died?”

Jimmy shakes his head. “Not for a second.”

“But you were scared.”

“Terrified.”

“And yet you did it anyway.” Brian sits back, leaning against the pillows to give his shoulder a break. “You know what that tells me?”

Jimmy looks wary. “What?”

“It tells me that the person you are now would never abandon someone you cared about. No, shut up,” Brian says, holding his hand up when Jimmy opens his mouth to speak. “You want to know why I put up with you, Jimmy Price? Come here.”

Brian pats the side of the bed. Jimmy hesitates, but slides out of the chair and sits on the edge of the mattress. Brian crooks his finger. “You need to lean down to hear this, you're not going to make an injured man strain his shoulder, are you?” Jimmy raises an eyebrow, but closes the distance between their faces until they're only a foot away.

Brian grabs Jimmy's shirt collar and tugs him down the last foot, kissing him as hard as his tired body will allow. Jimmy freezes, but then his hands find their way to Brian's face, cupping his cheeks and dipping into the press of their lips, just as eager for it as Brian had guessed. Jimmy's mouth is dry, but that just gives Brian an excuse to pry his tongue between Jimmy's teeth and deepen the kiss.

When they finally break apart, Jimmy stares at him with wide, shocked eyes, panting and grasping his shoulders. “Brian,” he gasps, “Zee, I- where did that come from?”

“You don't get it?” Brian reaches up, tracing a hand down Jimmy's face. Jimmy's eyes flutter shut. “You said you wanted me to know you, Jim. I want you to know me too. Come on, you're the smartest guy I know, besides me of course. You know why you needed to tell that story about your old love. You wanted to let me know what I'd be in for. Or what you think I'd be in for, if there was an _us_.”

“Brian...”

“Say it. I need to hear it from you, Jim.”

“...I love you,” Jimmy finally says, pressing his cheek into Brian's hand and kissing the palm. “Okay? That's the truth of the matter.”

“Good. Because I love you right back,” Brian says, and Jimmy's eyes pop open as he gasps in a shuddering, wet breath. “And I don't want whatever perfect version of yourself that you _think_ deserves my love. This version right here is the one who deserves it and who I want to give it to. Okay?” Slowly, Jimmy nods. “Good. Now will you come here? My shoulder is _killing_ me.”

Brian scoots over, and Jimmy slides onto the bed, pressing his face into Brian's good shoulder and draping his arm over Brian's stomach. Brian smiles, kissing the top of Jimmy's forehead and wrapping his good arm around Jimmy's back. A kind of peace washes over him; after the hell of the last few days, this moment is a little slice of heaven.

He finally understands what they've been building to all this time. God, to finally get to understand this man next to him, to be allowed to be let in and _know_ Jimmy... _It was worth everything that happened_ , Brian thinks, sighing happily. _If this is what it took... I'd do it again without hesitation._

They don't move for several minutes. Brian's starting to wonder what's taking Beverly so long. He doesn't much care if she comes in and catches them like this, she'd probably laugh and tell them to get a room, oh wait, they've got one.

“I'm going to try to stop drinking,” Jimmy murmurs, catching Brian off guard. “I want to give myself to you, but a lucid, sober me.”

“...Okay. And I promise I won't leave you alone,” Brian says. “I'll be there for your best and your wost. But you're never allowed to think you don't deserve this. Never again.”

Jimmy nods. They stay like that for a few more minutes, and then Brian's shoulder starts aching again, so Jimmy gets off the bed, and he's just sitting down in the chair when Beverly strides back in, two cups of coffee in hand.

_Good timing_ , Brian mouths to her, and she gives Brian a wink.

Beverly hands Jimmy a cup of coffee. "You two all better?" she asks. "Do I need to leave for another twenty minutes so you can go over in exquisite detail every single feeling you feel for each other?"

"We're good, _mom_ ," Jimmy says, smiling and kissing her on the cheek when she gives him his coffee. "Thanks for your concern."

"Where's my coffee?" Brian asks.

"None for you, doctor's orders," Beverly says, taking her seat again. "You need to rest. I told Will and Jack that you were awake; they should be up in a minute."

"Remind me to thank Will profusely for discovering Blake's hiding spot," Brian says with a yawn. "I may have to eat my former words and admit that he is occasionally useful."

"Oh, I want that signed and verified so I can hang it up in the morgue," Beverly says.

Brian laughs, and when he glances over and sees the happy look Jimmy's giving him, he can't smile wide enough.

 

~

 

When Brian is discharged from the hospital, the first thing he and Jimmy do is go to Jimmy's house and dump every bottle of booze down the sink.

"I'm not sure this will work," Jimmy says, drumming his fingers nervously on the counter top as the liquid swirls down the drain. "Even if I go to AA, I'm going to have a bad day, dredge up old memories, and then I'll find myself at the liquor store again."

"Well then," Brian says, tugging Jimmy towards him with his good arm and sliding them chest to chest. "I guess I'll have to find ways to distract you."

The look on Jimmy's face is priceless.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure writing that ending was the hardest bit of writing I've ever had to do. I hope it was satisfying :) Thanks everyone for reading, let me know what you thought of this fic in the comments!

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the second fic I ever wrote for this fandom. I was still a bit rusty, and didn't necessarily have my characterizations all figured out, so this may seem different from my more recent work.
> 
> Thanks to pajamasecrets for the beta, you helped me so much in turning this into something decent :)
> 
> Find me on tumblr and twitter at nighthawkms for more Preller, fandom insanity, and other inane nonsense.


End file.
